The corridor outside Inaya's hospital room hummed faintly with the sterile quiet of machines and distant footsteps. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, cold and clinical. Fluorescent lights cast pale shadows along the walls.
On the bench by the door, Zayn and Meher sat a full arm's length apart. The space between them was heavy—thick with words neither was willing to say. Meher sat with her arms folded, eyes fixed on the tiled floor, her jaw set in its usual defiant tilt. Zayn leaned back, staring at nothing, the restless tapping of his foot the only sign of his impatience.
Inside the room, Faqair sat beside Inaya, who lay propped up on the bed, a faint trace of color returning to her cheeks. Her breathing was slower now, steady, but the exhaustion still lingered in her eyes.
Faqair's shoulders slumped as he stared at the floor, guilt written all over his face.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured, barely loud enough to hear. "All this happened because I took you out today."
Inaya turned her head slightly toward him, her voice soft but firm. "I told Meher, and I'll tell you the same thing—you didn't do anything wrong. I begged you to take me, remember? You said no at least three times."
Faqair shook his head. "Still… I should've insisted. You weren't feeling well, I should've been more careful."
Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "If you hadn't taken me out today, I would never have seen the truth. I'd still be living in that illusion, blindly trusting Nabeel."Her gaze drifted to the window, the city lights beyond shimmering through the glass. "So if taking me out was a mistake," she continued softly, "then thank you for making it."
Faqair blinked, taken aback. "You're… thanking me?"
"Yes." Her eyes met his—steady, sincere, full of quiet strength. "You helped me face what I needed to. It hurt, but I'm glad I know now. So… thank you for helping me see it."
For a moment, Faqair couldn't speak. The tension in his chest eased, replaced by something lighter, something almost peaceful. A small, grateful smile found its way to his face. In her calmness, he found something steady—something that anchored him.
Inaya smiled back, her fingers resting gently on the edge of the blanket. The silence between them wasn't empty anymore—it was filled with a kind of understanding neither of them needed to explain.
***
Meanwhile, in the corridor, the silence had taken on a life of its own.
A middle-aged man in a faded blue sweater walked by, noticed the tension between Zayn and Meher, and, perhaps against his better judgment, decided to intervene. With an amused smile, he sat down between them.
"So," he said, glancing from one stiff figure to the other. "Did you two have a fight?"
Meher didn't even look up. "Fight? With him? I don't waste my energy like that."
Zayn muttered, "As if I've got time to waste either."
"Exactly," Meher shot back. "Just sitting here doing absolutely nothing."Zayn turned to her, irritation flickering behind his calm expression. "And what are you doing? Closing business deals from a hospital bench?"
The man chuckled, clearly entertained. "Ahh, classic husband-and-wife banter. One of you just has to give in—you'll live happily ever after."
Both of them froze.
"Husband and wife?!" they exclaimed together, their voices echoing down the hall.
The man blinked, startled. "Oh—you're not? From the way you were bickering—"
Zayn straightened, jaw tight. "I'd rather die than marry her."
Meher crossed her arms. "And I'd rather get lost in the jungle."
The man laughed nervously. "Ah… okay. So not married."
"Absolutely not," they snapped in unison.
He hesitated, still hopeful. "Then maybe… dating?"
Meher's eyes widened in outrage. "What!?"
Zayn barked out a dry laugh. "Me? Dating her?"
"Not even in my nightmares," Meher said.
"Not in this life," Zayn added coldly. "Not in the next."
He abruptly stood, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's it. I'm done. I'm leaving."
"Great," Meher replied smoothly, barely looking at him. "Don't forget your attitude."
Their eyes locked—his sharp and guarded, hers calm and taunting. The moment stretched, the silence between them alive with unspoken challenge. Then, without another word, Zayn turned and knocked on Inaya's door.
From inside came Faqair's distracted voice. "We're fine, nurse! Nothing needed. I'll call if anything changes."A laugh burst out of Meher before she could stop it. Zayn clenched his jaw, glaring at her. Her laughter echoed down the hallway, light and merciless.
"It's me, Faqair," Zayn said sharply through the door.
Inside, Faqair froze, realizing his mistake. "Oh—sorry! Coming!"
He jumped up too quickly, knocking over a tray. The clatter rang through the room like an accusation. Inaya laughed—soft and sudden. Faqair straightened the tray, his face red, and turned to her.
Her laughter stilled him. There was something about the way she smiled—unforced, unguarded—that disarmed him completely. For a moment, all he could do was look at her, that warmth in her eyes reminding him of everything gentle that still existed in the world.
Then a voice called from the hall—Zayn's, low and controlled. "We should leave now, Faqair. It's already getting late."
Faqair nodded quickly, clearing his throat. "Right… yes. Coming."
He turned back to Inaya, who was still smiling faintly. "Rest," he said softly.
"I will," she replied.
He lingered for just a second longer, then left.
***
In the corridor, Zayn was already slipping on his coat. Faqair walked ahead toward the elevator. Meher stood by the wall, her expression smug, the corner of her mouth curving into a victorious smile.
Zayn caught her look, sighed, and shook his head.
She waved her fingers playfully. "Try not to trip over your ego on the way out."
He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.The corridor fell silent again.
But the silence, this time, wasn't empty—it was thick with what none of them dared to say.
To be continued...